The Last Curtain Falls
by Wirral Bagpuss
Summary: Dr Watson loses someone close and Sherlock Holmes is there to support his grieving friend. Can Holmes bring Watson the comfort he needs in his hour of need? Written for Watsons Woes Challenge fic. Warning: Death of Character, funeral scene


****Author's Note**: This story is dedicated to my Father's who lost Michael; a close friend of his who sadly died on Christmas Day 2011 after a long battle with cancer. Please make the most of your friendships. Some will last a lifetime and some will be cut short through the cruelty of nature. Treasure your friends as I do mine**

**The Last Curtain Falls**

_It is a far, far better thing that I do, than anything I have ever done;  
>it is a far, far, better rest that I go to, than I have ever known.<em>

-Charles Dickens

It was Christmas morning, 1890 and Dr John Watson stirred from his bed and awoke groggily to the sound of the cold wind and falling snowflakes gently pelting his bedroom window. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and focused his bleary eyes on the windows which widened in delight at the winter snow. And then his sore, aching head reminded him of the Christmas festivities he had attended last night at his club. He had met several friends there including Stamford and Thurston and they had been up long into the night chatting and catching up on old times. He smiled as he remembered the laughter that still rang in his ears as the wine flowed freely. He had wanted his old friend Sherlock Holmes to join him, but frustratingly Holmes had refused. Watson smiled fondly recalling Holmes words _ I do not partake in pointless merry making. All that expense just for one day! _ Jumping out of bed he washed and changed and picked up his present for his best friend Sherlock Holmes and ran down the stairs to the sitting room where he found Holmes sitting cross legged in his chair smoking his cherrywood pipe deep in thought. He opened his eyes on seeing Watson entering the room and removed his pipe from between his teeth and smiled.

"Compliments of the season dear fellow, you slept well I trust?" said Holmes with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Watson laughed and sat down in his chair but not before passing Holmes his present.

"Merry Christmas Holmes, have you been up all night?" asked Watson worriedly. He knew the last case they had been both on had drained Holmes both physically and mentally.

"Not all night Watson. Just into the early hours. I was reading which reminds me I have something for you, I know you enjoy reading so I hope this will suffice" replied Holmes who passed a parcel over to Watson.

Watson opened his present eagerly, Holmes looked on amused. The unwrapped paper revealed the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe. Watson let out a cry of surprise as he saw the book and looked up to see Holmes smiling. He could contain himself no more

"Holmes! This is wonderful, thank you so much, this will be well thumbed I assure you. Now you open yours Holmes!" said Watson joyfully.

Holmes carefully unwrapped his present and his eyes rested on a leather box which he carefully opened and let out a cry of surprise as he held his gift in his hands. It was a new magnifying glass, with a solid oak handle on which the initials SH was inscribed in gold lettering.

"My dear Watson, this is truly magnificent, I cannot thank you enough for such a magnificent gift!" exclaimed Holmes in a slightly shaking voice, his emotions that he kept so carefully hidden threatening to come to the fore.

"Merry Christmas Holmes" said Watson excitedly as he stood up to shake hands with his friend, Holmes stood up and took Watson's hand and shook it warmly.

The sitting room door opened and Mrs Hudson appeared with a bottle of mulled wine and three glasses.

"Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, I bring you season's greetings and would be honoured if you would join me in partaking in some mulled wine". Announced Mrs Hudson in a joyful manner.

Holmes and Watson accepted their glasses of Mulled wine and the trio sat together enjoying each other's company enjoying the hot coal fire that roared in front of them. Watson looked up at the picture of the falls that hung above the fireplace. He did not know why, but it had been disturbing him more and more of late. It was but several minutes later the their Christmas musings was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell and Mrs Hudson excused herself and got up and went down the stairs to greet the caller. She returned a few moments later with a missive in her hand.

"A telegram for your Dr Watson. If you gentlemen would excuse me I need to tend to the goose that I have prepared for lunch"

Watson thanked the long suffering landlady who closed the door behind her. Holmes took up his paper and began to read the agony columns. It was Christmas Day but Holmes knew that crime was committed no matter what day of the year it was. He watched as Watson opened his telegram and deduced it was probably from Watson's club. Probably one of the patrons had too much to drink last night thought Holmes wirily as he returned his attention back to the agony columns. He had hardly made any real progress into his reading when a strangled cry pierced through him like a dagger going straight to his heart and he knew it could come only from Watson. Holmes threw down his newspaper and looked up at Watson who had been standing up was now clutching his chest and trying to reach the fireplace mantelpiece for support. Just as Watson's legs began to give way, Holmes rushed to his side and supported Watson's shaking frame and gently guided Watson to a nearby couch and sat him down. He noted the crumpled up telegram in Watson's hand. He did not have to deduce much to know that it had been the bearer of bad news.

"Watson?" asked Holmes tentatively "What's happened?" continued Holmes gently

Watson looked up at Holmes, tears in his eyes and gripped Holmes's arm.

"Holmes...I...Oh Holmes, its Stamford. He is dead…his heart gave out…died last night walking home..." Watson's voice trembled as he tried to answer Holmes before breaking down completely burying his face in his hands.

Holmes sat there stunned, at a loss for words. Stamford was dead? But he was only in his early forties. He saw Watson's body tremble as he cried and threw his arms around him and held him close. He gently pulled free the telegram from Watsons hand and opened the crumpled paper and read the telegram which had come from the club and which simply read

_Dr Watson. I regret to inform you Stamford found dead this morning by the Embankment. Stop. Heart attack suspected. Stop. My deepest condolescenes. Stop._

_Thurston_

Soon the trembling stopped and Watson pulled away, ashamed by his breakdown.

"I'm sorry Holmes...just the shock. Stamford and I were only talking last night, I knew he had been ill for some time, but I never thought he was this ill..." Watson's words were lost as he fought to hold back his tears once more.

Holmes looked at his friend sympathetically. He knew Stamford and Watson had known each other many years previously when Watson was studying in Medical School. Besides himself Watson had very few friends, but Stamford had been one of them. He knew Watson would take Stamford's death hard.

"Watson, I am so very sorry. I knew Stamford was a very close friend of yours. If there is anything I can do for you only but need ask..." said Holmes gently.

Watson looked up at Holmes and gripped Holmes once more, almost to the extent that Holmes nearly cried out in pain himself but fought down the urge to do so. His immediate physical pain was nothing in comparison to the grief his only friend felt right now.

"Thank you Holmes, that means a lot to me, right now I wish to have some time to myself" said Watson raggedly and he got up and left the sitting room closing the door behind him.

Holmes sat back as he listened to the heavy footsteps climb the stairs and heard the bedroom door close. He picked up the telegram once more that had heralded so much pain and threw it into the fire and angrily poked the coal fire before leaning his head against the mantelpiece for a few moments before looking up at the picture of the falls. He had been having strange nightmares about that picture of late. He had not wanted to tell Watson of them fearing his friend would think him mad. Holmes sighed wishing he could comfort his friend. He picked up his violin and began playing. Holmes fingered the strings with the music of Mozart the melancholy notes flowed and reverberated throughout the flat and made its way to Watson who laid upon his bed tears flowing down his cheeks. He had lost Stamford, but found comfort in knowing Holmes was supporting him in the only way he knew how.

The next several days passed in a whirl as the coroner's report came back confirming Stamford had died of natural causes. Then came the funeral and Holmes struggled to keep his façade intact as he watched a distraught Doctor speak at the funeral, his gift with words enabled him to deliver a moving oration which made the audience both laugh and cry. Stamford had been a well liked member of the community given the size of the funeral congregation. Holmes stayed close to Watson supporting him throughout the entire service and gave physical support to Watson as Stamford's coffin was lowered into the ground. Watson would have surely collapsed had he not done so. Now back at their home, New Years Eve, Holmes watched Watson with growing concern. Watson was not talking, the dark rings under his eyes told their own story and he had barely eaten. In an ironic, bitter role of reversal it was Holmes who had begged Watson to eat something. Watson only did so to appease Holmes. He was not interested in eating. He had too much on his mind. _Why did I not see Stamford was so ill, why could I not do more? I'm a doctor; I should have known and foreseen this. I could have prevented this. I am a fool, my qualifications mean nothing. NOTHING. _

The two troubled friends sat in front of the fire, the day was giving way to the curtain of night. It's gentle drawing across the London skyline. Holmes got up and lit the gas lamps and saw the picture of the falls again and he felt a shiver run down his spine before quietly sitting down in his chair once more and took up his glass of brandy.

"Is that picture troubling you Holmes?" asked Watson softly.

Holmes jerked his head up so swiftly that had he done so more quickly it would have snapped off. It had been the first real words Watson had spoken in hours.

"Watson, I…." but Holmes was swiftly interrupted by his grieving friend.

"No Holmes, please don't try to brush this under the carpet as if I was one of your clients. I know you too well. I am a useless Doctor but I can at least know when one is troubled by something" said Watson with more force than he had intended. The strain of the past few days was telling.

Holmes was astonished but not surprised by both Watson's astute medical observations, and the depths of his friend. A mediocre Doctor he was not.

"Watson I will not hear you putting yourself down like that again. You are a highly skilled Doctor and surgeon. London owes you a debt of gratitude for your services. Only the other day I met with one of your patients who spoke very highly of you. They were not rich or had the means to treat themselves, but they were the parents of one of my Irregulars who were thankful for your treatment of their son. And yes Watson, I am troubled by the picture but no more than you are old fellow" replied Holmes determinedly.

Watson looked up at Holmes struggling to overcome the torrent of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

"I am sorry Holmes. You are right about the picture, it has troubled me too but I don't know why". Watson replied shakily before continuing "Stamford was my friend it is true and I shall miss him so very much, but I can't stand the thought of losing you Holmes. You are the only closest friend I have and to lose you would be to lose part of myself. I don't think I could survive it". Cried Watson. His words came flowing out, the tension and grief of the last few days was released at last.

Holmes sat in stunned silence. Had he heard Watson right? Watson had just fears that mirrored his own. He did not want to lose Watson either. The events of the past few days had reminded him of how much he regarded Watson as his friend, his greatest friend.

"Oh my dear Watson, is that what you have been thinking? I can assure you I will not be leaving you. I will always be your friend and colleague. Of that you can be rest assured". Holmes responded with a voice of determination.

Watson looked up and smiled. He wished he could believe that, but Holmes's profession was a dangerous one. As a former soldier he knew better than anyone that in any military campaign there would always be casualties. Holmes was no exception. Watson resolved in that moment to be as resolute as ever and do all he could to protect his only friend from harm.

"Thank you Holmes, my life would be incomplete without you" said Watson in reply whose voice filled the empty silence that stood between them.

The two friends talked long into the night until exhaustion overcame Watson and Holmes stood up and smiled staring fondly at Watson and snatched up an Afghan blanket from his bedroom and returned gently placing it over the sleeping form of his friend. Holmes would watch over Watson and see him through these difficult times. As he watched his friend sleep, Holmes steepled his fingers deep in thought. He knew that Watson's concerns were not entirely unfounded. He had known for some time of a master criminal at work and orchestrating some of the more complex crimes committed in London and elsewhere as of late. He knew that there would come a time when he would have to lock horns with the devil himself. He looked up at the picture of the falls and then back at Watson. Holmes resolved to keep Watson from harm as much as possible. Even when the odds were totally stacked against him, he would strive to protect Watson as much as he could from the pain he had witnessed Watson suffer these last few days. As Holmes succumbed to the effects of Morpheus the fingers of the moon's light slipped through a crack in the drawn curtains and danced on the picture of the falls. As the New Year bells chimed greeting in the New Year. It was 1891. Little did the two friends know that their time together would be short. But their friendship would be strong enough to see them through the dark days that lay ahead.

The moonlight danced once more and against the light of the moon a form took shape and glided close to where the two friends lay. Michael Stamford smiled at the sleeping friends. One a soldier against crime and a hardened veteran in the fight for justice, another soldier of battle and war and also a hardened veteran of many a campaign. He touched Watsons shoulder gently and bent down and whispered softly into his ear.

"Grieve no more Watson for I am safe now. Let Holmes help you and allow him to be your anchor in the hard times that lie ahead"

Watson's lines of grief etched on his face fell away and a faint smile replaced the weariness that had gripped him.

Michael Stamford was able to rest easy now, knowing that Watson was at last at peace and that Sherlock Holmes would be there to protect him now and always. His spirit slowly faded away drawn to the eternal peace that awaited him. As he dissolved the pages of a Bible on Watson's desk flickered and rested on a page, the words stood out standing the test of time with the Eternal Promise made to us all:

_God shall wipe all tears from their eyes;  
>and there shall be no more death, nor crying,<br>neither shall there be any more pain:  
>for the former things are passed away.<br>Revelation 21_


End file.
